


Sleep Easy

by watanuki_sama



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Brotherly Love, Comfort, Gen, Implications of alcohol problems, It's adorableness, Season 1 or 2, Sleeping in the same bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was little and had nightmares, Charlie used to climb into Don's bed for safety. Just because he's gotten older doesn't mean his brother's bed isn't still the perfect safety net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 04/21/2009 on ff.net under the penname 'EFAW'.

Charlie used to have nightmares. When he was little, like, three or four, he would wake up during a thunderstorm, trembling and scared every time the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled. In his head, he knew it was all math; he could use the sounds of the thunder and the flashes of the lightning and he could figure out how strong the storm was and how close or how far it was.

But even with the assurance of math, after every thunderstorm, little Charlie would have nightmares, terrifying nightmares of monsters that roared like thunder and had lightning flashing from their eyes. And he could use the sounds of the thunder and the flashes of lightning to figure out how far away the monsters were.

The thing about the monsters was that they were always coming closer. No matter what, every time the thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed, the monster was closer than before. Even if he ran, the monsters just got closer and closer, and with his math he could always tell just how close they really were. Closer and closer and close enough to eat him-

He always woke up then, scared and gasping for breath. Once he realized he was in his own room, he would check under the bed and out in the hall for the monsters. Then he would grasp his blankie and, with a burst of courage, he would race down the hall to Donnie's room.

Donnie always seemed to know when Charlie had a nightmare. He would always be awake, holding his covers up with one hand while he hid a yawn with the other. And Charlie wouldn't even stop running; he'd leap right into Donnie's bed and burrow under the covers, trembling against his brother's belly and clutching his blankie like there was no tomorrow.

Donnie would always laugh, softly through his nose, though he never did say what was funny. Then he would wrap his arms around Charlie and hold him tight, and then, only then, could Charlie relax and get to sleep.

He was always safe in his brother's arms. The monsters couldn't get him there.

**XXXX**

"Charlie! Charlie, I told you to stay in the car!" Now, nearly twenty-five years later, Don's eyes are flashing and his voice is loud like thunder, but Charlie isn't scared. How could he be? This is Donnie, his big brother. Donnie isn't one of the monsters. Donnie would never hurt him.

But he doesn't say anything. He _can't_ say anything. The words are frozen in his throat, and he realizes his hands are trembling, clutching his notebook so hard he almost fears he's going to rip the pages and tear the carefully constructed calculations in half.

A small sound, nearly imperceptible, rattles to their right, and with a curse, Don grabs Charlie's arm, bodily dragging the mathematician behind a crate. Don's gun is in his hand, and he cautiously peers over the top of the crate. Nothing happens, no bullets come flying from the shadows, but Don ducks back down anyway, still clutching Charlie's arm.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snarls, eyes roaming around, trying to figure a way out. When Charlie doesn't answer, Don turns, eyes dark, and he gives Charlie a little shake. "Charlie! What the _hell_ were you thinking, coming in here? I told you to stay in the car!"

"I—I—the calculations, they were off, I—you needed to know—" Charlie swallows when Don's eyes turn on him, dark and unreadable. But Charlie knows his brother well enough to know when Don is truly well and pissed. And Charlie flinches. Don's mad at him. He did something bad and now Donnie's mad at him-

"Charlie. Charlie, look at me!" Trembling, he turns his gaze onto his brother's, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

Don waits until he's sure he has Charlie's attention before speaking. "Charlie, stay here. _Do not move_. No matter what, don't you dare move from this spot. I won't let anything happen to you, but you _cannot move_. Understand me?" Shakily, Charlie nods, and Don nods back, face grim and resolved.

Charlie doesn't realize what's happening until _after_ Don has rolled away, rolled past the edge of the crate and out of their little safety zone. A strangled cry leaves his throat, and he nearly crawls out after him, wanting to follow along in his brother's footsteps like he did when they were little. But Don calls his name, and Charlie remembers what Don told him, so he curls up, trembling, clutching his notebook behind the crate.

Don's disappeared. Charlie can't hear his footsteps anymore, and his own breathing is too loud for him to pick up the delicate breaths of someone else. But it's too quiet, and all of a sudden Charlie just knows something bad is about to happen.

And in an instant, it does.

Shots ring out, and the crate next to Charlie explodes in a shower of splinters. A small, terrified scream tears from his throat as more shots ring out, and Charlie ducks, hands wrapped around his head to give him that feeble protection.

He doesn't know what happens next. Voices sound, incomprehensible, and more shots. Then the sounds cease, and someone moves in front of him. Hands touch him, prod him, and he cringes, flinching back from the touch.

"Charlie, it's me. Charlie, come on, look at me. It's alright, look at me." Donnie's voice washes over him, and he relaxes just a bit. He's still trembling, but Donnie's here. Everything will be alright if Donnie's here.

More voices, and Don says something soft, unintelligible. Then strong arms wrap around him, pulling him to his feet. Charlie willingly follows, tucked neatly within his brother's arms. He doesn't quite know where he's going, where Don's taking him. But he doesn't mind.

He's in Donnie's arms. He's always safe in his brother's arms. The monsters can't get him here.

He was _always_ safe in his brother's arms.

**XXXX**

Later that night, once Don has tucked him in bed and assured him that the shooter was taken down, Charlie jerks upright with a gasp, wrapping his arms around himself in the hopes that it will stop his trembling. He hasn't had nightmares since he was younger. He stopped having them when he was ten or so. Oh, he's had bad dreams, dreams that leave him with a nauseating feeling in him stomach and he wishes he could turn back time, but nightmares…real, honest to god wake-you-up-out-of-your-sleep nightmares, he hasn't had in a long time.

No, that's not true. When Mom died, after he'd snapped out of his daze, he had a nightmare where he was drowning, swimming through numbers and unable to keep his head above water. In that dream, his mom and his dad and Don had been there, standing on a dock watching him drown, and no matter how he cried out, they couldn't hear him. His dad and Don just kept looking around, asking, "Where's Charlie?" and his mom, his beautiful loving mom was in a wheelchair, staring at him sorrowfully, but she couldn't say anything.

That had been a nightmare, a terrible nightmare that filled him with guilt and made him run crying to his father, though he never told Alan why he was so upset.

But other than that, he hasn't had a nightmare in such a long time.

Until tonight.

Without thinking about it, he rises from his bed, and, after making sure to check the dark corners of his room and the dim hallway, he stumbles down the hall to his brother's room. It isn't until he's standing in the doorway, staring at the empty bed, that he remembers Donnie doesn't live here anymore. Donnie isn't down the hall to comfort him after him nightmare.

But Donnie's nearby, and, gritting his teeth (he wants this trembling to _stop_!) he grabs a jacket and shoes and pads down the stairs and out the door.

**XXXX**

Don, unlike Charlie, has had his fair share of nightmares these past few years. Ever since Charlie started working with the FBI, he's had nightmares. Dreams where he's just a second too late, just a little too slow, and Charlie's body is falling, falling…

Don's had lots of nightmares.

He's just better at hiding them.

Tonight is no different. There have been so many close calls, and tonight is no different. He can still hear Charlie's scream, can hear the shatter of the crates as the bullet tore through it, and in that instant, that single moment, he had been sure that Charlie was hit. He hadn't known what to do. His brother got shot, what was he going to tell dad, oh god, Charlie was hurt-

When he blinked again, the gunman was dead, and Don didn't even remember pulling the trigger.

So many close calls. So many times that his baby brother was in the line of fire. Too many times. So often Don is afraid that if he lets Charlie out onto a crime scene, Charlie will never walk back off.

So many times, he's tried to get Chuck to quit. Quit working for the FBI, quit consulting. He's used every excuse he could think of. It's too dangerous. You could get hurt. It's taking time away from your work. All this consulting is holding you back.

Charlie will have none of it. No matter what scare he faces, he's always back the next time Don calls, always rushing in even when he isn't called, just in case he can help.

Don can understand that. It's the Big-Brother-Little-Brother thing going on there. He'd always been a hero in Charlie's eyes, and he can do no wrong. For Charlie to be able to help his brother, to fill in the cracks where Don can't quite reach, is probably the greatest thing in the world for Charlie. He gets to bask in his hero worship and help his brother out at the same time.

Don _does_ understand that. They've gotten close over these last couple of years, closer than they'd been since they were so very young. He doesn't want to lose that closeness, just because Charlie isn't working for them. After he'd left for Albuquerque, they had fallen apart so quickly. Sometimes Don wonders if it's Charlie's consulting work that keeps them in touch with each other.

But that doesn't stop the tremors every time someone shoots at his baby brother, or the stubborn obstinance that makes Charlie disobey him and get out of the car, or the adrenaline and fear that clogs his throat every time a gun rings out. And every time, he can't help but wonder if _this_ time, if _this_ case, he's going to have to tell his dad that Charlie isn't coming back.

But Charlie's safe. Charlie is safe and sound and alive, breathing at home. Don tucked him in and everything, just like when they were younger, lingering until he was sure that Charlie was safe before leaving.

And then he got to his apartment and the nightmares plagued his sleep, so here he is drinking and trying to make the fear go away. The bottle isn't helping, but if he drinks enough, he knows he'll just pass out into a dreamless sleep, so there's hope yet.

Around his fifth or sixth bottle, there's a knock on the door, and he pauses, bottle halfway to his lips. Who would come calling at this hour? Frowning, he gets up, leaving the bottle on the table.

"Charlie? What are you doing here, buddy?"

His little brother is in the doorway, clad in his pajamas, a hastily adorned jacket and a pair of sneakers thrown on. The younger Eppes is wringing his hands together, looking down at the ground, his curly locks masking his eyes. From the nervous fidgeting, Don knows that Charlie wants to ask him something, something potentially embarrassing, but Don can't get up the urge to tease his brother about it. At this time night, he's more worried than anything else.

Bending over, he attempts to meet Charlie's eyes under those long bangs of his. "Charlie? What's wrong?"

Charlie's eyes flicker to meet his, just for a moment, before Charlie drops his gaze to the ground again. "I…I had…can I sleep with you tonight?"

In an instant, Don is transported into the past, when Charlie was only three or four and he was just eight or so. Charlie was scared of thunderstorms then, and Don always knew that Charlie would come rushing in because if the nightmares. Nightmares of monsters and scary things, reminiscent of how Don used to rush into his parents' room, when he was younger and afraid. And Don would always wait with the covers held up, because Charlie wouldn't even stop, leaping up onto the mattress so the monsters underneath Don's bed couldn't reach out and grab his feet.

Just because they got older doesn't mean the monsters left their dreams. Now the monsters have faces.

He's silent too long, because Charlie hunches his shoulders against an invisible blow and takes a step back. "S-sorry," the younger stammers, still staring at the ground, still wringing his hands nervously. "Sorry. I…this was a bad idea." He turns to go, still hunched like he expects to get hit.

"Charlie," Don calls, and Charlie pauses, back to him. Don can't help the grin that slips from the corners of his mouth, though he makes sure to school his features into a decently solemn look before Charlie can see. "You can come in, buddy." He holds the door open, and silently, Charlie turns and enters, swinging his head around as though peering for hidden monsters.

Just like when they were little. Peering for monsters down the hall before making the mad rush to Don's room.

Charlie will always be the little brother.

"You wanna go to bed?" Don asks, sweeping the empty bottles off the coffee table and taking them to the trash. He ignores Charlie's disapproving look, just drops them into the trash and washing his hands.

"Sure," Charlie murmurs, slipping off his jacket and sneakers. Don nods, moving to the bedroom, and he can hear Charlie following behind him.

He's already crawling into his bed when he realizes that Charlie's paused in the doorway, eyes peering into the dark corners of the room. And for a moment, Don sees, not the thirty-some year old man his brother has become, but a scared three-year old seeking comfort and safety, even with the threat of monsters lurking everywhere.

He grins, chuckling to himself, and holds up the covers. "Come on, buddy."

Charlie looks at him, and for an instant there's a flash of gratitude.

Then Charlie is leaping in beside him, and Don lets out a breath, because having a grown man jumping into one's ribs is a lot more painful than having a three-year old child jumping into those same ribs.

"Sorry Donnie," Charlie murmurs, head buried into Don's chest, and he's holding Don so tightly that Don's near afraid he's about to break in half. But he can feel the small tremors in his brother's frame, tremors he didn't notice until Charlie was holding him, and he just quietly wraps his arms around his baby brother, giving what comfort and protection he has.

"It's alright, buddy. No harm done. Now go to sleep."

" 'kay."

In what seems like no time at all, Charlie's fallen asleep, taking Don's arm with him, but Don doesn't move for fear of disturbing the sleeping man. He's glad that Charlie can fall asleep so easily. If only Don could do the same.

But there's no way to get any sort of sleeping aid without moving and disturbing his brother, so he stays where he is, curled protectively around his brother. And after a while, he realizes that he doesn't need anything else. Charlie is here, safe in his arms, and that's all Don needs to reassure his frantic mind of his brother's safety. The nightmares won't come to haunt him, not with Charlie right here, breathing next to his ear.

Don smiles softly to himself, taking a breath of Charlie's hair, smelling the scent of his brother; coconut shampoo and chalk.

Charlie is safe. Don's got him in his arms, and the monsters won't get to him. Don won't let them.

And with that revelation, it doesn't take Don too long to drop off to sleep either.

**XXXX**

The shrill sound of his phone ringing pulls Don from his slumbers, and he groans, rolling over. Or attempting to. There appears to be a dead weight attached to his arm, preventing further movement.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, Don peers at the weight, recognizing Charlie's mass of dark curls. His mind is blank for a minute as he tries to figure out what his brother is doing here, in his bed with him. Then fuzzy, slightly inebriated memories come back, and he lets out a breath. Okay. Now he remembers.

Leaving his totally-numb-by-now arm where it is, the FBI agent reaches behind his for his phone. Flipping it open, he whispers, "Don Eppes."

_"Donnie?"_ His father's voice is urgent and slightly frantic. _"Donnie, I can't find Charlie anywhere. I woke up this morning and he was gone, but he doesn't have classes this morning so—!" ___

"Dad," Don murmurs, a little louder than a whisper, but not loud enough to wake Charlie. Unable to cut through his father's frantic worries, Don raises his voice another half-notch. He understands his father's worry. They haven't been working together very long-the idea that Charlie could be getting shot at when he's just a mathematician can put even the oldest father on edge. To wake up and not know where your child is, when just yesterday someone was shooting at them…Don didn't know it personally, but he can imagine what it feels like. "Dad! Charlie's alright. He's over here with me."

_"With you? What's he doing there? How'd he get there?"_

"He had a nightmare last night and slept over. Like he did when he was little, remember?" Don smiles at the memory. "And I assume he rode his bike. He was pretty shook up—I didn't exactly interrogate him when he walked in the door."

Alan is silent for a moment. He remembers all too clearly Donnie's terrible nightmares when he was little, and Charlie's a few years later. He also quite clearly remembers that it was always _Don_ Charlie went to, no matter what time it was. Don's bed was Charlie refuge those first few years.

There's a smile in Alan's voice when he speaks again, the worry dissipating like it never was. _"Well, make sure to wake him soon. You may not have work today, but Charlie has a class this afternoon."_

Don can feel a small smile blooming on his own face as he hugs his brother tighter. "Yeah, okay. I'll tell him." After a few more minutes of small talk and helpful reminders, Alan hangs up, leaving Don wide awake and hungry.

Well, he supposes that's the cue to go see what's in the fridge.

Now, if only he can figure out how to remove his arm safely from this dark-haired leech…

**XXXX**

Slowly Charlie blinks into awareness, sleep seeping from his mind, replacing it with an unwelcome clarity.

The first thing he realizes is that Don isn't there. Unlike his brother, Charlie has all-too clear memories of last night, and now, in the light of day, he's totally mortified that he came running to his big brother. He's not a child anymore. It was just a nightmare. He's supposed to be able to handle that sort of thing on his own by now.

Rolling over, Charlie listens for sounds that his brother is awake. The coffeepot is bubbling in the kitchen, and there's the soft sounds of someone trying to cook without making too much noise.

Well. Breakfast sounds good.

Let's see what Donnie's making.

Reluctantly pulling himself out of bed, the mathematician pads to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame and yawning. Don has his back to him, cooking eggs on the stove, and trying without success to be quiet.

After a moment of scrutiny, when he realizes that even Mr. Observant FBI Agent isn't going to notice him standing there, Charlie announces his presence. "No bacon?"

Don whirls around, wielding the spatula like a weapon, before he recognizes Charlie and relaxes his guard. "Oh, hey buddy. Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't."

"Good." Don turns back to the eggs, scrambling them a little more. Deciding they're done, he scoops them onto two waiting plates, making sure to turn the stove off before carrying them to the table. Glancing up at Charlie, who still lingers in the doorway, Don beckons him over with his head. "Come on, sit down. Dad wants me to remind you that you have a class this afternoon, and since you don't have any clothes here, you're gonna need to stop by home."

At the reminder of his unexpected late-night visit, Charlie drops his head, suddenly finding his toes the most interesting things in the world. "Donnie, I'm—"

"No," Don snaps, cutting him off. Charlie flinches slightly, and Don softens his tone. "No, buddy, it's alright. You don't have to apologize."

They may have been distant not too long ago, but Don still knows Charlie the best of all.

Don smiles easily, setting the plates down and moving over to where Charlie stands. In a move that's uncharacteristic for him, he wraps Charlie in a hug. Grateful for the support, Charlie brings his arms up, hugging Don back.

"Charlie, you don't have to apologize for being scared," Don murmurs into Charlie's hair. Charlie doesn't make any indication he's heard, but Don knows he did, so he continues. "You can come to me for anything, day or night, and I'll be there. Don't apologize for that. Okay, buddy?"

A muffled, " 'kay," sounds from Don's shoulder, and he chuckles softly. He lets the hug linger a moment or two longer, because it has been a long time since they've shown this much physical affection for one another, and it doesn't feel all that bad.

When it gets to be a little too much, Don gently pulls back, and Charlie lets him go.

"Come on, I made eggs," Don offers, taking his seat at the table.

Charlie cracks a half-smile, moving over to take the vacated chair, and looks at the eggs skeptically. "Should I be worried? Do I need to call paramedics on standby?"

Don laughs again, glad to see his brother in a joking mood, and throws a napkin at the mathematician's head. "Hey, they're better than your eggs. At least I _can_ cook."

With that, the tension dissipates, and they fall into the easy cadence of joking and banter that true brothers have. Charlie makes jokes about Don's eggs, and Don makes jokes about Charlie's cooking, and Charlie brings up all the times that Don's cooking failed spectacularly, and last night fades into…well, just a bad dream.

Everything is fine now. Charlie and Don both slept without nightmares haunting their sleep. Because Charlie has _always_ been safe in his brother's arms, and Don doesn't need to worry when Charlie is right there, breathing next to his ear.

Charlie is safe. The monsters didn't seem so scary in the light of day, and they couldn't get to him during the night, not when he was tucked in his brother's arms. Don wouldn't let them.

Don would protect him, no matter what.


End file.
